


Goat

by CloudySonder



Series: Happy Angel, Happy Demon [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Idiots in Love, Joy Ride, M/M, Softie Crowley (Good Omens), and it shows, light - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 19:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20278669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudySonder/pseuds/CloudySonder
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are indulging in a joy ride when Aziraphale catches sight of a small goat.Aziraphale, thoroughly enchanted by the creature, goes to say hi.Crowley is not amused (well, maybe a bit).





	Goat

Aziraphale, much more often than not, had a smile on his face. 

Crowley liked that. He thought smiles belonged on his angel’s face, like two perfect puzzle pieces. It felt right when Aziraphale smiled, and unsettling when he didn’t.

For the longest time, Crowley thought it was because he was an angel. Angels smiled, and demons sneered. Just the way that it was. 

(Not that that little tidbit did shit to explain why Crowley’s heart should feel so warm and goddamn _fond _when Aziraphale smiled, and why it nearly jumped out of his chest each time Aziraphale beamed.)

Crowley realized he was mistaken the second he met Gabriel and Sandalphon for the first time. They wore smiles too, but it was more accurate to say that their smiles wore Crowley. Every ounce of his demon self screamed “_ingenuity!” _every time they so much as glanced at him, and it was _tiring. _

Gabriel and Sandalphon wore smiles like uniforms, tight as their suits around their shoulders, and just as controlled.

Aziraphale wore smiles in genuine happiness when joy and love bubbled up in his throat, and he couldn’t stop the ends of his lips from curving upward.

For the umpteenth time, Crowley realized that Aziraphale was different; a _good _different, of course. 

Crowley lived for different. “Different” had thrown him down to Hell, and he had cursed his “difference” since the day he fell. Aziraphale’s “different”, however, made him lovely and ineffable, and was the sole proof that Crowley desperately clutched on to that “different” wasn’t necessarily as sinful a thing as he was taught.

To put it simply, Crowley fell in love with Aziraphale’s smile first. (The rest of him was soon to follow.)

Crowley did everything he could to see the angel’s smiles. 

Which was how they ended up on this joy ride. 

As much as Aziraphale loved staying cooped up and reading his lovely ancient books, Crowley, who had taken to spending his days beside his angel draped over Aziraphale’s couch napping or reading the news (always something nasty there; wonderful) when the angel was too immersed in a book, noticed how he seemed to stay on pages with illustrations of grassy plains and forests longer than others. He would sigh longingly and look out his window into the busy streets of London, before going back to his book.

So Crowley suggested a small ride into the countryside together.

Or... not really... suggested. It went more like this:

Crowley: “Angel, I’m going out!”

Aziraphale: “Out where?”

Crowley: “No destination in particular. Just going to see some nature, I guess. Grassy plains, forests, the lot. Cooped up in London too long.”

Aziraphale: “Alright, have a lovely time, dear.”

Crowley:

Aziraphale:

Crowley: “Fine, you can come. But only since you’re being so insistent.”

Aziraphale: “What--”

It was the angel’s fault for going off the script that Crowley mentally wrote for him.

Anyhow, Crowley knew Aziraphale had really wanted to see a bit of nature the second they passed a large patch of grass with the occasional flower in it.

“Crowley, look, _look! _It’s a peony! And a tulip! Look how lovely they are, dear!” Aziraphale shook Crowley’s shoulder, and the demon nodded, that _yes, he could see them, angel, he wasn’t blind._

Crowley fought down multiple smiles at the angel’s enthusiasm for his reputation.

“And look how green the grass is, and how vibrant the petals are! They’re grown with love, Crowley, I can _feel _it.”

“I’m actually rather sure they’re grown with water and fertilizer.”

Crowley made a mental note to not let Aziraphale near his plants. He was building a better relationship with them now, yes, but Aziraphale’s excited-puppy-dog-ness would flatter and wilt them on the spot.

At the last comment, Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and, though Crowley wasn’t looking at him, he could _feel _it, along with the angel’s small burst of guilty giddiness at being even a smidgen _sassy._

“You’re rolling your eyes, not robbing a bank.” 

“...but do you feel sassed?” Aziraphale gave him a pointed look and a smile, adjusting himself in the seat.

“Sure, angel.” Crowley sighed, and if he sounded fond, whoever thought so must’ve been imagining it.

“Then I’ve robbed _your _bank... of, of self-assurance!” Aziraphale smiled triumphantly.

Crowley had just opened his mouth to deliver a sarcasm-slathered “devilish thing, you” when Aziraphale frantically grabbed his shoulder, and Crowley froze stiff.

_He’s so goddamn warm._

He didn’t have time to think anything else before Aziraphale loudly insisted “Stop, stop, stop, Crowley!” and he smashed on the brakes.

“What, angel?” He panted out.

“Look, dear-- no not over there, to your left a bit, _yes there it is_, isn’t it wonderful?” Aziraphale gushed.

“It’s a goat.” Crowley stared straight ahead at the entirely boring creature, who was busying himself by munching on a chunk of dirt with a few speckles of grass.

Aziraphale had already hurried out of the car.

“Oh, Crowley, look!” He gestured to the goat, who tilted its head, confused, at Aziraphale. “Isn’t he just remarkable?”

“It’s a goat.” 

“Ah, but there are so many myths of goats being vessels for Satan, you know, affiliated with all things hellish. Absolutely preposterous, I say. Look how lovely he is, with his horns and all.”

“It’s a goat.”

“His hair reminds you of angel wings, doesn’t it? Truly, one of the Almighty’s creations, this blessed creature.”

“If angel wings were long, tangled, and covered in dirt and grass stains, sure.” Crowley murmured.

“What was that, dear?”

“Nothing, angel.”

Aziraphale glanced suspiciously at Crowley for a moment, before his attention was drawn to a more pressing matter.

“MY COAT!” 

A torn off piece of Aziraphale’s mint condition 150-year-old tartan coat was clamped tightly in the goat’s mouth as he hurried over to Crowley, who was still leaning on the Bentley.

The goat placed the small scrap of fabric at Crowley’s shoes, and sat at his feet, like an obedient, lovable dog. His rectangular pupils were darting from place to place, which Crowley found both amusing and slightly unsettling.

Crowley pushed his glasses up to get a better look.

“Huh. Funny thing, he is, eh?” It was addressed more to himself than Aziraphale, but the angel responded with a “what was that, dear?” anyway.

As the angel continued mourning over his beloved coat, the goat had started to rub the top of its head against the bottom of Crowley’s trouser legs, as if showing affection. 

The goat was careful not to let the tips of his horns touch Crowley as he cuddled beside the demon. Crowley let himself be coddled for all of three seconds before he tried to shoo the goat away, trying at first to be gentle.

“Go on,” he urged quietly. “To the angel, see the angel? He would enjoy this far more than I would, so go on.”

The goat refused, clinging to Crowley’s leg. The demon sighed, exasperated, as he picked up the injured tartan material from the grass and walked over to his angel.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale looked at him. “I think the goat really likes you! Far more than it likes me, anyhow.”

“What are you talking about?” Crowley used a demonic miracle to mend the angel’s coat as he talked. “He likes you fine. Just look.”

The goat had stayed stubbornly by Crowley’s side until the demon fixed the goat with an intense look and probably a bit more demonic essence than was needed to tell the goat to **_“GO”._**

The goat looked sufficiently terrified, and promptly left Crowley’s side to go to Aziraphale, wobbling the whole time on shaky knees. He bleated softly as he rubbed his head against the angel’s hands, trembling.

“Crowley, dear.”

“Yeah?” Crowley was still glaring at the goat.

“I don’t need love when it’s this sad.”

**Author's Note:**

> crowley's legit the biggest softie for his angel and it Shows


End file.
